


Love has terrible purple hounds

by Dienda



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dienda/pseuds/Dienda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Matthew are vigilante killers. Pretty much fluff without much plot. Very short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love has terrible purple hounds

**Author's Note:**

> Promoting [Hannibal ACCA](http://hannibal-acca.tumblr.com/) Charity Project!

Outside, it’s just started raining but the morning sun refuses to stop shining. Will stares at the water as it hits the window, white dotted lines against the glass; his vision rocks softly with the up and down of Matthew’s chest. They got in just before dawn.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes.” Matt hums the tips of his fingers down Will’s shoulder.

“We should clean up,” he suggests. Instead of rising, he turns his head and kisses the corner of one tattoo. “Burn everything, wash the car, take a long shower.”

“I know. This isn’t my first rodeo, Mister Graham.”

Will chuckles and a hand tangles in his hair. He shifts between Matthew’s thighs until he’s looking up at his lover, chin resting on the other man’s chest.

“You did a beautiful job,” he whispers.

Matt smiles. His face is peppered with dry blood; another stain runs down his neck, a perfect match to Will’s ―still scarlet― fingers.

They killed a man last night. Chased him through his own house, tied him up and stuck a knife through his heart.

“You always say the same thing.”

“It’s always true.” Will closes his eyes and his mind replays the moment they caught their kill. The man stumbling to the floor and Matthew falling on him like a bird of prey, nothing but strength and the grace of his youth. Will had reached them just as Matt overpowered the man and held him in a headlock.

Now, in their bed, Will twists so he can press his lips to the inside of Matthew’s elbow; muscles, tendons, the blue-green pulse in his veins. The sheets are a mess of blood; they’ll have to burn them along with the pile of ruined clothes discarded on the floor.

They dragged the unconscious man to the living room, gagged him, and tied him to a chair. Then they prepared their tools: a knife, a pen and a piece of paper.

Will talked to the man. He’s always the one to talk to them. Told him it was useless to struggle, useless to beg; they knew what he was, they knew what he’d done. All those girls used and thorn open, all the literal skeletons in his cellar. No, they weren’t here for justice, they’d come for revenge.

Matthew moans as Will goes back to kissing his chest, skin marked by ink and freckles; he wraps his lips around a nipple, brushes it with the tip of his tongue. Matt rolls his hips against his stomach, spreads his legs further apart. They’ve just done this, touches and thrusts, but the urge is there again, never ending; a fever that barely hints at the idolatry behind it.

After their prey had written his confession, Will retreated back into the darkness and Matthew took over, like a creature out of the Old Testament, like something to be feared.

Matt pulls him up for a proper kiss, turns them over with a laugh, and Will falls in love again, like every time they’ve done this. Like the first time Matthew came back to him with an offer of death and his heart on his sleeve. It’s been their only kill apart; Will locked away in Baltimore, Matthew sent to slay the devil alone.

Last night, they left the corpse to his declaration, the house getting smaller in the rear-view mirror while the longing for each other grew.

Outside, the rain hasn’t managed to block out the sun.


End file.
